


Coming Home

by Justlikewriting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Auror Harry Potter, Bisexual Harry Potter, Draco neglecting himself, Dreaming, Healer Draco Malfoy, Home Decorating, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Past Relationship(s), Pining Draco Malfoy, at least a bit, character driven, reference to Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27861046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justlikewriting/pseuds/Justlikewriting
Summary: There had been many reasons for Draco to come back to Britain: his parents, Astoria, who was remarrying after having been Draco’s wife for years, and, of course, his new job at St Mungo’s. Harry Potter definitely hadn’t been one of those reasons, though, not after all this time, because Draco was very much aware of how he shouldn’t stupidly hope forthatagain.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 130





	1. The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of four that I will be posting within the next four days.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Of course he had known Potter would be here: Astoria was marrying Seamus Finnigan, for fuck’s sake, who, quite predictably, had invited every damn Gryffindor in his year in Hogwarts, plus some. 

And that obviously included Potter.

Potter was talking to Ginny Weasley and, although Draco knew they had divorced about two years ago, seeing them together still caused something very unwelcome to stir inside Draco. 

Now Potter noticed him, giving him a very short, very small and very faint smile in recognition, then quickly averting his gaze, talking to Ginny again as if Draco wasn’t there at all. 

For some reason that stung even more, knowing how he didn’t even matter to Potter at all anymore.

Of course he wouldn’t.

Draco turned and made a beeline to the bar, deciding this probably was as good a day as any to get absolutely sloshed. He asked for another Firewhiskey.

“Sulking on your own.” Astoria’s words, absolutely not phrased as a question, were accompanied by a soft touch on his upper arm. Draco realised he’d become used to her touch: it had been a constant over the past fourteen years, always just there when he’d needed it.

And he realised he would miss it. Even though his and Astoria’s marriage had never been based on romantic love, it had worked, she had been able to ground him, make him see he could still redefine himself, that whatever his past had been, he could still do the right thing now. 

Her confidence had made all the difference in the world.

But then she’d fallen in love with Seamus and when she had talked to Draco about it, about wanting to really _be_ with Seamus, to live in the same house, to wake up together, he had understood.

Of course he’d understood.

So he’d decided to let her go.

And now here he was, at her wedding.

“What are you thinking?” Astoria asked and he realised he’d been too caught up in his own thoughts, not giving her the attention she deserved.

“That I’m going to miss you.” Draco’s answer was much too honest, already making him doubt his decision to drink all he wanted.

Astoria smiled at him warmly. “Me too,” she said, “I really don’t regret our arrangement. We were good together. It’s just-, I wanted-“

Draco looked at her, managing a smile that was probably still too tight. “I know.” 

And the thing was: he did know. He knew exactly what it felt like to want what Astoria meant: someone who really cared, who thought you were the only person that mattered, someone to love, someone to give yourself to completely, someone who would not shy away if you did … .

Draco also knew it wasn’t something people like him got to have, though. He’d learnt that the hard way. And then he’d settled for the next best thing. Which was now taken away from him, too. 

Draco felt the lump in his throat, the prickle in his eyes he really didn’t want to feel just now and he shut them for a moment, hoping that would take care of all the inconvenient tell-tale signs he wasn’t prepared to show.

Not here, at Astoria’s wedding of all places.

“And I’m glad you’re happy,” he squeezed out next. He meant it and Astoria knew. He’d been around her long enough to be able to tell that she knew.

When Seamus came up to them to collect his bride for the first dance of the evening, Astoria turned back to Draco, smiling warmly at him once more: “Try to have a nice time.” It sounded stronger than advice, almost like a plea.

Draco had another Firewhiskey, while watching them dance. 

***

Draco was still at the bar - the far end of it, slightly in the shadows - leaning against it more out of necessity than out of choice by now, when he started at the sound of a large bowl of now undefinable food hitting the floor. Then laughter, energetic and joyous. 

Draco would have known that laugh everywhere.

Potter.

Weasley, the male variant this time, joined in the laughter slightly reluctantly and Draco couldn’t decide whether that was, because either Weasley’d sent the bowl to its splintering doom in the first place or because Weasley would have wanted to eat everything in it, which now would obviously be completely out of the question. Perhaps it was a combination of both. 

It was Granger who cleaned the mess with an efficient swish of her wand, of course.

Potter thanked her, still with that joy in his eyes, which made him look even more handsome. 

Because, yes, he was handsome, annoyingly so really, he’d always been: Draco was wasted enough to let himself appreciate that, to let himself stare for a bit. 

Potter seemed to actually have put some effort into the way he looked for the evening: his hair was sort of presentable, at least it didn’t seem half as messy as usual and he wore nicely pressed dress robes in a shade of dark grey that clearly set off his green eyes. Yes, he was undeniably handsome.

“You could just go there and talk to him.” It was unmistakably Luna’s light voice, although Draco hadn’t noticed her approaching.

“Yes, of course I could.” He tried to sneer, but he realised he was slurring. The two didn’t go well together.

“Yes, so why don’t you? I don’t think he would mind.” Luna had disregarded the sneering part to Draco’s answer completely.

“I think he would,” Draco just answered. He definitely wasn’t going to tell her how Potter hadn’t even wanted to see him, how he had ignored him as much as he could for the whole evening. Even just _telling_ Luna would hurt.

And it hurt enough as it was already, thank you very much.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Luna sounded very sure, her words accompanied by her ethereal smile as if she just knew. “Just talk to him.”

“Coming?” It was Neville, Luna’s husband, who was asking her to come, addressing Draco next: “If that’s okay with you?”.

“Yes, of course it is.” Draco didn’t mind, quite the opposite, really. It would conveniently end this rather uncomfortable conversation.

“It’s just that I promised Luna to dance with her when I got here.” Neville’s voice was still apologetic and when he saw Draco’s frown, he elaborated: “I needed to harvest a batch of Fluxweed before coming here. Full moon today.”

Draco just nodded, which his head and stomach didn’t at all approve of, and Neville and Luna got to the dancefloor, Luna doing her weird, intricate dance and Neville happily joining in. They looked good together, fitting.

Of course, they did. Like almost everybody else here, almost everyone having a significant other.

Well, Draco didn’t. Not anymore.

And, of course, Harry didn’t have anyone special anymore, either, not since he and Ginny Weasley had split up, but that was different somehow. He was still so irrevocably part of the Golden Trio - as they had been called after the war - that it almost felt like Harry was in some kind of relationship anyway.

Well, at least Potter hadn’t been alone this whole evening. Draco had seen how he’d been constantly talking to people, mostly to Weasley and Granger and occasionally Ginny. And to anyone else who happened to come his way, of course.

One big happy Gryffindor family here, apparently.

The Slytherins obviously weren’t part of that, though: they were massively underrepresented at this wedding, as most of them, like Draco and Astoria, had fled the country, but, unlike Draco and Astoria, had had no wish of returning yet, not even for a wedding, the way they’d been treated after the war still not forgotten.

Most of them had declined the wedding invitation.

Draco shot a quick _Tempus_ to see whether it would be rude to leave already. 

It was. Too early.

He had another Firewhiskey.

***

Draco had actually slumped into the bar a bit when he saw yet another Weasley, one that actually came his way. It wasn’t something he was used to, so his first instinct was to find anyone else nearby that the Weasley could be coming up to. There was no one.

“Draco Malfoy, am I right?” Draco didn’t feel like nodding, so he just didn’t. People usually got his name right: his blonde hair just as much of a giveaway as the Weasley’s red. This particular Weasley didn’t ring a bell, though. He was ruggedly handsome, muscular and strong, but Draco couldn’t for the life of him put a first name to this man.

That solved itself.

“Charlie Weasley.” He stuck out his hand and Draco took it. “I was really impressed with your work on Alexandru.” Oh, _that_ actually was a name Draco recognised. Yes, about three months ago, Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. Draco had been called in on a rather viciously wounded man who had crossed a dragon at the wrong time and the wrong place. 

So this was the dragon Weasley. 

“He’s my colleague,” Charlie added, coming slightly closer, “the way he was hurt, we didn’t even know whether he was going to come out of it at all, but he hardly even scarred.” Charlie sounded genuinely impressed and Draco let himself feel it. Just for a bit. His speciality was healing complex deep wounds and burns, especially when they were caused by curses, but most of his techniques worked on dragon fire induced injuries just as well. It was something he had worked really hard to become very, very good at. 

“So I hear you’re going to work at St Mungo’s,” Charlie stated next. He was even closer now and Draco should probably feel crowded, but he didn’t, not exactly. 

He didn’t really know what he was feeling.

“Yes, I am.” Even this very short sentence came out decidedly slurring and for some reason it made Draco feel quite uncomfortable again, like this was going to be one of those situations he might really come to regret in the morning.

“I’m glad,” Charlie’s voice sounded sincere and warm, much like he meant a lot more than what he was actually saying. “Just a pity we won’t have you back on the Continent anymore.” Here he just looked at Draco, holding his gaze a beat too long: his eyes were blue. “Alexandru told me you were quite something to look at, and completely my type. He was not wrong.” 

‘He was not wrong.’ What kind of sentence was that? Why not just say he was right. It irked Draco.

Charlie was still watching him, though. Expectantly.

Oh, wait. Did he mean-? Draco noticed his brain was apparently decidedly slow, only now catching on.

Then Charlie touched his upper arm, just lightly, his hand travelling up over Draco’s shoulder to his neck. 

Yes, apparently he did mean … .

Draco couldn’t help the gasp of breath escaping him when Charlie reached the sensitive spot just below Draco’s ear.

It had been so long, because even though Draco and Astoria had had an open marriage (they’d both had different needs, so to speak), it had been years since he’d last pulled someone. 

This could be so easy.

Charlie’s fingers moved smoothly over the nape of his neck now and Draco let himself be pulled forward. He could smell the Firewhiskey on Charlie’s breath. 

Charlie’s other hand was travelling down. “Just to be clear: I don’t do long-term, but I certainly wouldn’t mind … ,” Charlie said. It was crystal clear indeed. And quite convenient: beneficial to the both of them and no strings attached.

Draco didn’t know whether it was all the Firewhiskey he’d had, but he felt himself lean in a bit. Why wouldn’t he? It could be fun and it wasn’t like he had anyone to go home to anyway.

That’s when the elbow hit him right in the ribs. “Oh, sorry,” the man said, “didn’t see you there.” He had apparently been muscling his way to the other end of the bar through the crowd.

Charlie and Draco both noticed who it was at exactly the same time.

“Hey, Harry.” Charlie sounded jovial, not at all like someone who had just been chatting Draco up rather convincingly.

“Hey, Charlie,” Harry turned their way completely now. Of course he did. He still pointedly didn’t look at Draco, though.

So they talked, Harry and Charlie, easily, like they were old friends. Which they probably were. 

Draco let himself lean into the bar once more, tuning out. 

Then he got his Firewhiskey and headed for the exit. It couldn’t possibly be too early to leave anymore.

***

It must have been that last whiskey that had done it. Draco remembered having walked here, but then he’d just felt so tired and he’d allowed himself to slide down the cool, smooth wall. He would get up and go later. Fortunately he had found himself a shadowy nook, just off the cloakroom, where he’d be out of sight enough for people not to notice.

Guests had been leaving and Draco knew he should probably leave too, but his legs just didn’t seem to work anymore and his head wouldn’t stop spinning. He leant his head against the wall, which seemed to take care of the spinning a bit. It was okay like this. He was okay.

“Oh, and Harry … ,” Luna’s voice. She was disturbingly close, but somehow Draco couldn’t quite get himself to open his eyes. “I think you should take Draco.” 

Well, _that_ made him open them. Even in his current state that fucking did it.

Now Harry looked his way, Draco registered. _Now_ , now Draco seemed at his lowest, Harry actually saw him. It hurt Draco more than it had any right to, not after all this time.

Draco closed his eyes again. Perhaps if he just gave in to sleep, he would wake up tomorrow and all of this would have gone. It was most definitely worth a shot.

“Come on,” Harry’s voice was even closer now than Luna’s had been, “Let’s get you up.” Harry sounded surprisingly warm. Then he just put his arm under Draco’s and hoisted him up, slowly, carefully, with just a tingle of his caressing magic to help. 

Draco wanted to protest, to tell Harry he could make it home himself in a bit, but his muscles felt so heavy and words never formed.

He found himself leaning against Harry, his face buried in the nook of Harry’s neck. It was so familiar, so warm and inviting and he allowed himself to lean into it even more. Harry just let him, holding him up.

“We’re going to use the Floo now,” Harry warned. At least they wouldn’t Apparate, Draco thought fuzzily. He knew from experience that was a very bad idea, when he was this wasted: the mess he’d made when Astoria had Side-Alonged him when he’d been completely trashed all those years ago, still fresh enough in his mind.

And then they were there: in Grimmauld Place. Draco didn’t know why he hadn’t expected it, but they were in Harry’s house. How could he have expected anything else, though? Harry couldn’t have taken them to Draco’s flat. He didn’t even know where Draco’s London flat was. Oh heck, even Draco himself hardly knew where his London flat was. He’d just bought it, hadn’t even properly been there himself yet.

Harry had helped Draco take his robes off and now ushered him to what Draco hazily recognised as one of the many spare bedrooms Harry’s house had. It was the room he used the most, the one opposite Harry’s own bedroom. 

Draco was still heavily leaning into Harry, muzzily taking in the familiar feel of him. He didn’t want to move, just wanted to keep standing close to Harry. 

Of course Harry didn’t agree.

“I’m going to sit you down on the bed. Do you think you can sit, just until I take your shirt off?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded slowly enough not to upset his stomach again, fearing that saying anything was still out of the question.

So Harry eased him down carefully. The bed was so soft and Draco felt so tired all of a sudden that he almost gave in, remembering he had promised to keep sitting only just in time. 

Harry sat down beside him and started unbuttoning Draco’s shirt, then took it off. He didn’t say anything, but Draco saw how his eyes lingered.

“See anything you like?” This time Draco’s words did come out, although they might not have been too easy to discern. 

Harry didn’t answer the question - although Draco thought he saw him flush a bit - instead saying: “Just go to sleep.” 

So Draco let himself fall onto the mattress. For a brief moment he vaguely thought about asking Harry one important question: would he like to stay, with Draco, just for now, just for tonight, just for old time’s sake? But it was no use, for as soon as Draco’s head hit the bed he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

***

Early morning light was seeping through the curtains when Draco woke up again. Well, ‘woke up’ probably didn’t exactly cover it. His head hurt like hell and opening his eyes was a whole jolly challenge in and of itself. 

He managed to do so by sheer willpower, anyway, and found Harry had left a phial of hangover potion on the nightstand, which he gratefully took, feeling better almost instantly.

The relief he felt was short lived, though, because he was _in Harry’s house_. Harry had had to take him home, not because he had wanted to, but because Draco … . 

Fuck.

Draco felt himself flush. Violently. And he was extremely happy there was no one else here to witness it. 

What had he been thinking getting himself that drunk last night for fuck’s sake. Harry hadn’t even had a choice: Draco would hardly have been able to get himself anywhere in the state he’d been in and Harry … . 

Draco just closed his eyes for a moment. Harry hadn’t even wanted to look at him earlier yesterday evening: he would never have taken him home if he’d actually had any say in the matter, if Draco hadn't been so bloody boozed-up he couldn’t actually stand up straight anymore, let alone Floo home.

Right.

Draco slung the blanket off of himself and got up. He found his shirt – neatly folded, which was a bit of a surprise, because Draco knew Harry didn’t normally fold anything neatly, really – on a chair and put it on, fumbling with the buttons in his haste to do them up.

He needed to leave as fast as possible.

He apparated out before he’d even thought of the wards. Luckily they were still set on letting him through.

***

It was only that evening, when Draco had been safely back in his own empty flat for a while and getting ready for bed, that he realised it was gone. For the first time in over fourteen years the necklace wasn’t around his neck.

Somehow he had lost his locket.


	2. The Locket and the Flat

“How the hell do you even know where I live?” Draco knew it wasn’t the most polite, or adequate for that matter, response to someone standing on your doorstep to return your locket, the one you quite inconveniently lost at their place.

Harry obviously didn’t know what to make of Draco’s question, either, then just opted for a smile, slightly subdued perhaps, but a smile nonetheless. “I’m Head Auror. I think I should be able to find an address if I wanted to.”

Oh, right, that. Draco had known, of course.

“So, you live here now.” Harry’s gaze went past Draco, inside his flat. Draco knew what he’d be seeing, but when he registered the surprise on Harry’s face, mixed with something close enough to pity that he didn’t want to think about it, it still stung. A lot.

He should never have opened the damn door.

“Yes,” he managed, continuing, because he apparently felt a need to prolong this complete agony, “I haven’t lived here long, just a few days now, and I haven’t had the time to-. Well, it’s not done yet.” Draco’d heard his own voice go quiet and he didn’t like it, not with Harry sodding Potter standing on his doorstep, looking like, like _that_. Damn Gryffindor.

“So, aren’t you going to invite me in? You know, give me the grand tour?” Okay, now Harry was taking the piss and it actually, really hurt.

Draco started to close the door. He’d never had much of a sense of self-preservation when it came to Harry, but this apparently was where it kicked in all the same. Harry was faster, though, putting his foot in the door. Bloody Auror reflexes.

“I didn’t mean-,” Harry tried. Draco would never know what exactly it was that he didn’t mean, though, because Harry didn’t finish his sentence, starting a new one instead. “I just think you have a nice space here. Very light.” He seemed to mean it, and when Draco thought of Harry’s house, dark, old and rather gloomy, it probably made some kind of sense. 

“So?” Harry gestured inwards and Draco let him pass, undoubtedly just the right amount of reluctance on his face.

***

“It really is a nice space,” Harry said when he’d seen most of the flat, opening the last door, the one leading to Draco’s bedroom, which didn’t actually have-. “There’s just a mattress?” Harry’s voice held blatant surprise.

“I transfigure it into a bed in the evening,” Draco felt urged to defend himself. What had Harry expected? That he’d have the whole flat nice and ready straight away, all sorts of friends helping out?

Harry smiled a little, it was the soft smile Draco used to see a lot of, years ago, in very different, possibly even Prehistoric, times. “You always were good at that: at transfiguration.” Harry’s voice was very soft, too, like he was also thinking of another time: long, long ago.

“Yes. So now you’ve seen my whole fantastic, but still empty flat, can I have my locket back, please?” Draco, much to his own satisfaction, had successfully reverted back to his usual, arrogant drawl.

Harry flushed a bit, “Yeah, of course,” handing it over straight away.

Draco took it, fastening it around his neck immediately. 

“So, do you have plans for dinner? Or do you have to work tonight?” Harry asked next and his voice had a tinge of shyness to it that Draco wished he hadn’t heard. 

It probably was why he actually answered honestly: “Neither, but I thought I might get some takeaway.” 

Harry seemed to ponder his answer for a moment, then said: “I just got off work. The perk of being Head Auror: you know, having regular working hours, well, mostly at least.”

Draco just nodded, not really knowing where this went and being quite certain that wherever it was, it couldn’t be anywhere good.

It was clear Harry had decided on something and was set on spitting it out whatever happened: “Well, I was just going to cook, but it’s more fun to cook for two instead of just one. So?” 

“Is there actually something you’re asking me? Because ‘so’ is not really a question, now is it?” Draco knew he was being wilfully difficult, but he needed to be sure. Needed to know that the question he thought was there, was actually the one that Harry was asking.

Because Draco didn’t think Harry could possibly be asking that, not after having ignored him completely for the better part of Astoria and Seamus’ wedding party. 

Harry just gazed at Draco again and for a moment Draco was sure Harry would tell him to forget about it and leave.

But that moment passed and Harry said, tone somewhere between annoyed and humorous: “Would you mind if I cooked for the both of us? You know, in my kitchen, which actually does have all the necessary appliances, like a hob and an oven.” 

“Now that actually _was_ a question.” Draco barely left out the ‘Well done, Potter,’ continuing: “And I wouldn’t mind, no,” because, of course, he was like that. Where Harry was concerned he always seemed to take the path that lead to certain death.

And then Harry smiled, and it was open and genuine and for a brief moment it made Draco feel like everything wasn’t completely fucked.

***

Being in Harry’s house again wasn’t as awkward as Draco had thought it would be: in a way it was still as he remembered it, but Harry had done it up: making it lighter, more homey somehow. 

Harry cooked, by hand and magic combined, sometimes talking and sometimes in silence. He seemed to be completely at ease in his kitchen and he didn’t seem to mind Draco just looking on.

“So, you don’t cook?” Harry’s question sounded genuinely curious.

“No, I-.” Well, he didn’t have to tell Harry about his rather spoilt childhood. “Back in France Astoria always used to cook.” And because he knew how that sounded: “She liked it. She preferred me not to interfere.” 

And then, when Harry didn’t answer: “It seems rather complicated, cooking.” 

That actually made Harry laugh. “Seriously? You can do potions. If you can get those right, I think cooking food shouldn’t be a problem. The recipes essentially work the same way actually.”

And Draco couldn’t quite help himself, blurting out: “So how come you _can_ actually do this, you know, if they’re so much alike?” 

Harry wasn’t even angry. He also knew he’d always been crap at potions. “Cooking is much less specific, at least the things I usually make are. But the point is: you should be able to learn just fine. When you actually have a kitchen in that flat of yours, that is.” Here Draco just watched Harry for a beat, but there didn’t seem anything else to his words than good humoured teasing. 

It was nice in a way, supposing a level of amicability that Draco really wanted to believe was still there somehow.

“It’s almost ready,” Harry now broke into Draco’s thoughts, “Plates are in that cupboard over there, glasses over here and the cutlery’s in that drawer.”

It was unmistakably clear what Harry wanted him to do, but Draco very much preferred being asked, nicely. So for a moment he just sat there, not quite knowing how to respond.

‘Well?” Harry urged. He was smiling. And Draco got up, because, well, Harry was smiling. Draco thought it looked as if Harry actually liked having Draco here. 

It was a very dangerous thought.

So Draco laid the table and they ate. And talked, mostly about topics that were safe, like Quidditch and their jobs.

It really was quite pleasant.

***

“Harry!” It was a voice Draco still definitely recognised as Hermione’s. 

Harry flushed a bit. “Coming!” he yelled back, adding just for Draco to hear: “She’s dropping Rose off for the evening so she and Ron can celebrate their fourteenth wedding anniversary together. Sorry, I didn’t realise it was this late already.”

Draco got up. 

“Thank you for dinner. It was really good,” was the only thing he said, hoping Harry would know how much he meant it. Then he Apparated out.

Draco understood exactly how Harry wouldn’t want Hermione to walk in on _him_ here. 

***

It had been a few days and Draco hadn’t heard from Harry at all anymore. He knew it was only to be expected: he was hardly Harry’s friend, Harry had just taken pity on Draco’s kitchen-less existence and cooked for him, that was all. 

Draco had somehow had to remind himself of that every day since, though.

It had just been so good to see Harry again, to talk to him like that still was something they normally did. 

“Healer Malfoy,” although Draco had been on his way out after a shift that had started early this morning and that had already taken more than nine hours, he turned around. It had been an exceptionally busy day, even by St Mungo’s standards and Draco had had no time for even the smallest of breaks yet. In a way he preferred it like that, though. It tended to keep people from talking about him, or at least it kept him from hearing what they said, because, although the war was more than fifteen years ago now, some people still had an opinion about him. And it usually wasn’t favourable. 

“They’re asking for you back in room three,” a young mediwitch he hadn’t seen before, said a bit sheepishly. She probably also realised he wasn’t even supposed to be here anymore. “Someone has been brewing an unknown potion in his living room and it exploded. His whole family was there.” 

Draco just nodded: he could easily understand how that would require his attention, so he made his way to room three without complaint.

***

When Draco finally made it out of St Mungo’s that evening, he couldn’t really be bothered about anything anymore: he just wanted to get home, to his stupid excuse for a bed, and go to sleep.

But of course that would be when Harry chose to reappear, at his door, just after he’d got back there.

“Hey, you’re in.” 

Draco wanted to quip that he was indeed in and would very much like to keep it that way, but he didn’t. It was Harry on his doorstep, after all. 

So he ended up very eloquently saying nothing.

“I, erm, I’ve made dinner and I thought you could, er-” Harry started, he had obviously decided he wasn’t going to let Draco’s silence keep him from saying what he wanted to say: “Have you already had dinner?” 

Draco shook his head. No, he hadn’t. He hadn’t even had lunch yet, either, actually, unless you counted a few rather stale pre-packaged cookies that he had been able to pick up walking from one examine room to another.

“Good. Do you want to come over to mine?” And because Harry seemed to realise what that sounded like, perhaps suggesting something else entirely, he added: “You know, to eat.”

Draco nodded very slowly. He had wanted this to happen, had hoped it would, but now it did happen he found he had started to doubt himself. He was tired and hadn’t eaten for a while, what if this wasn’t real? 

But then Harry smiled at him and he let himself believe. “Yes, I’d like to.” 

That was when Draco woke up. 

His flat was completely dark now and he was on his bed that wasn’t really a bed. He knew he should get up and get something to eat, but he couldn’t seem to get himself to do so, feeling his disappointment seep into every part of his body, like a physical ache. 

So instead of getting up, he crawled under his blankets and hoped that if he closed his eyes again, the dream would return.

Of course, it didn’t.

***

Draco’d been working at St Mungo’s for a week now, and he felt like he had been on call more than he’d been off. Well, at least today was a Friday and he was actually off for the whole weekend, so he would be able to sleep longer (anything around six or seven hours a night would be nice for a change) and perhaps even start making his flat look a bit more like a real home.

Because it still didn’t.

The end of his shift was nearing and nothing had happened that would warrant him to be here any longer than he’d been scheduled for. It was decidedly quiet.

Until the alarm went off, that was. And someone was brought in in a hurry.

Draco recognised Ron Weasley straight away, of course. He was brought in by his brother and his arm was completely limp, signs of massive burns all over it. 

“We were in the shop and I don’t know what exactly it was that he was working on, but it went off and-.” George still sounded quite put together, but it was clear that he was really worried all the same. Well, it looked like he had every right to be.

Okay, so this was not going to be a quiet evening off.

***

“Of course you’ll have to stay in hospital for a while to recuperate, but you’re going to make a full recovery.” Draco had addressed Weasley in his professional voice, still bracing himself, though. He had done a good job of healing him, but he knew Weasley had never liked him. That was bound not to have changed all of a sudden.

“Charlie already said you were very good,” Weasley, however, mumbled. It took Draco by surprise: he had known the Weasley family were tight knit, but he hadn’t expected one member’s opinion to be able to transform him from an Ex Death Eater into someone at least slightly palatable.

Granger nodded along with her husband: “Thank you.” Her voice sounded sincere, which was somewhat less surprising: she had already been quite decent to him when they’d both taken their eighth year at Hogwarts. She’d been one of the few who had been. 

“You’re off now?” She asked next.

“Yes,” he wasn’t going to tell her that strictly speaking he’d been off for a few hours already, “but if you would like me to stay, I can,” he heard himself say.

“No,” she gave him a look that seemed almost like concern. “No, you don’t have to. I would like to stay the night, though. You know, if that is possible. Molly and Arthur’ll have Rose for tonight.” She said it quietly, as if she didn’t know if it was going to be allowed.

Technically it probably wasn’t allowed, but Draco realised she would probably stay anyway.

“Of course it is.” His voice sounded uncharacteristically gentle and he knew he needed to be careful. He was so tired, he would soon start blurting out anything that came to mind. “I’ll have an extra bed be placed here, so you don’t have to sleep in that chair, because they’re just very uncomfortable, those chairs.” Yes, there, it had apparently started already, the blurting. “Goodnight.” It was obviously time to leave.

He made a stop at the reception desk to make sure an extra bed would be placed in Weasley’s room, then he made to leave.

“Hey!” Harry, whom he had tried to ignore as much as possible all evening, fearing that he wasn’t really there or at least wasn’t regarding him as anything more than just Ron’s Healer, had evidently come after him. “You haven’t had dinner, either, have you?”

Draco just shook his head. He was so tired now that he almost felt like he was sleepwalking, like nothing he did was actually real. 

Perhaps it wasn’t.

“I can cook us up something, if you’d like.” There was a question there, that Draco didn’t want to answer. The last time he had, the dream had abruptly ended.

“Do you want to come?” Harry eventually clarified.

“Yes, I’d like to.” Draco’s answer sounded tired and almost like a question, tentative.

Harry watched him for a moment, then smiled. “Good.” 

And it hadn’t been a dream, because Draco didn’t wake up.

Or perhaps it was just a really elaborate one.

***

This time Harry made short work of cooking: doing simple cheese toasties with tomatoes and unions that still tasted like heaven. Draco only noticed how hungry he was, now he was actually eating: just one toastie not even nearly enough.

Harry didn’t ask him anything, just gave him a look and got up, making them another round, handing Draco three toasties this time.

Draco ate them all.

“I’m really glad you were still at work when Ron was brought in,” Harry now said quietly.

Draco shrugged. “Someone else would probably have been able to do something about it and otherwise I would have been called in at some point anyway.” 

“Are you always on call?”

Well, it sort of felt like he was. “No, but sometimes injuries are so complex that I’m the only-” Draco stopped short. Saying what he was about to would sound too much like vanity and he tried not to go there, anymore. Astoria, for one, had hated it if he did. 

Harry just nodded like Draco _had_ finished the sentence, though. “Yes, I gathered as much. I heard you’re really, really good at what you do.” 

Draco didn’t say anything for a beat, feeling himself blush slightly. It was so nice to hear Harry say something like that, so nice to be here together with him again.

*** 

“Wait. I should have some photographs somewhere,” Harry said, getting up from his sofa, the one they’d moved to at some point after dinner. 

They’d been talking about Draco’s nephew Teddy and Draco had expressed how he would’ve liked to know him, but how he’d never actually been bold enough to just visit.

And then Harry had told him he was Teddy’s godfather.

So now Harry had gone out of his living room to find the photos and Draco waited, his every muscle relaxing into Harry’s surprisingly comfortable sofa. He felt positively drowsy, his exhaustion hitting him extra hard now he was left alone. He decided to lean his head back, closing his eyes just for a short while, just until Harry’d come back.

“Oh.” Harry’s voice was soft when he said it and Draco realised Harry must have gotten back. Draco couldn’t quite get his eyes to open anymore, though, involuntarily drifting off to sleep.

***

When Draco woke up again he was lying on the sofa flat out, his shoes were off and he was under a blanket that hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep. He turned slowly, registering that light was streaming in through curtains that obviously failed at doing their job of keeping it out. He’d slept like a proverbial log, though, hadn’t even come close to waking up any time throughout the night. Or part of the morning apparently.

He just hoped he would still be able to get out of Harry’s house before Harry’d wake up. 

Draco sat up on the sofa slowly, trying to hear whether the rest of the house was still silent, whether Harry would still be in bed. It would be so much easier for the both of them if Draco left before Harry would see him. 

It would spare them the awkward conversation about breakfast, the one that Draco wasn’t prepared to have, really. Harry would not want him to stay – Draco’d undoubtedly overstayed his welcome quite enough already - but Harry would offer him breakfast anyway, because he was a Gryffindor and altogether nice and Draco would stay, because he couldn’t actually do anything else when it came to Harry. 

It would end in the sort of thing where Harry would undoubtedly resent his presence without saying so and Draco would feel utterly stupid because of it. 

As if falling asleep on Harry’s sofa hadn’t been stupid enough already.

So Draco got up, performing a cleaning charm on himself that was probably long overdue and an ironing charm on his clothes that had the same urgency. 

That had been a mistake, though. Why hadn’t he done the sodding charm work at home! Because there he was: Harry Potter, very much awake and sort of staring at him. Draco almost felt compelled to tell Harry he was sorry for still being there, because he was, but for some reason the apology didn’t quite make it out of his mouth, though. 

‘Sorry’ just wasn’t what he did with Potter. It never had been.

“I was on my way out.” Draco just said instead, his voice much too gravelly with sleep to his own liking.

Harry just looked him up and down again, like he couldn’t actually believe Draco was still there. Well, that made two of them. 

“You could stay for breakfast,” Harry said. So there it was: the breakfast thing. “I’ve actually made enough for the both of us.”

And Draco knew he should say ‘no’, like he should have many times before, but he also knew it was quite impossible. “I suppose I could.” 

So he let himself trail behind Harry, going to the kitchen, sitting down in the same chair he’d occupied the day before, while Harry shoved a plate his way that held everything Draco loved to have for breakfast: toast, bacon and eggs. Lots of it.

“I haven’t made tea yet. I take coffee and, well, you always were rather particular about your tea.” 

Draco smiled and he knew it was much too genuine, too telling. But _Harry’d remembered_ , all of it, the tea, the food he liked, everything. “I’ll do it. I suppose you still don’t stock any decent tea, though.” Draco drawled. At least that came out the way he’d intended it to.

***

“Do you have any plans for today?” They had finished breakfast and the question took Draco by surprise. 

He really hadn’t thought about it yet, hadn’t had time to think about anything other than work much over the past week. “Not really, but I suppose I need to do something about my flat.” He could hear the tiredness lacing his words. He didn’t actually mind picking things for his flat, not really, but this week had been difficult, draining, and he felt like just sitting down and reading a book more than anything else.

“Do you need help?” Harry looked at Draco almost expectantly, falling silent for a beat and when Draco didn’t answer straight away, he apparently decided to elaborate: “I mean I can’t visit Ron until visiting hours and I would like to do something, you know, to take my mind off things.”

There was the familiar stab of pain and although Draco had almost been waiting for it, it still took him by surprise. Of course it would be like this, though: Harry wasn’t going to be with him, because he liked to be. No, Harry just wanted to help Draco, because it would take his mind off Ron and his injuries. Of fucking course.

“So you need to shop for furniture.” Harry started, almost hopeful.

Draco’s answer was slow, but it was there - of course it was - because when had he ever refused Harry. “Yes, I thought I’d go for mostly Muggle furniture. I rather like a modern Scandinavian style.” Here Harry looked surprised and Draco felt the need to explain: “The flat Astoria and I occupied in Paris was completely furnished like that.” Adding, quietly, almost as an afterthought: “It’s as much opposite to the style of the Manor as you can get.”

Harry just nodded like he understood. 

***

The rest of their Saturday had been spent looking for the perfect bed and wardrobe, which they had found, together with a rather beautiful chest of drawers that would be absolutely perfect with the rest of it. 

And then the time for visiting hours had rolled around and Harry had left to go to St Mungo’s, to Ron.

Draco had spent some time looking for accessories, but he hadn’t managed to find anything to his taste. So he’d left for his still empty flat.

And he’d thought that would be the end of it.

But it hadn’t been. On Sunday Draco hadn’t seen Harry, but come Monday Draco’d had to work the day shift again and Harry had visited Ron.

And he’d asked Draco to come to his place for dinner again.

The rest of the week had been much the same: Draco having dinner at Harry’s whenever Draco’s schedule and Harry’s work allowed it, which was more often than not.

And now it was Saturday again and Draco was off work and here he was, in Harry’s kitchen, eating a nice stew that Harry’d cooked. He really was quite good at making this sort of food.

Ron had been discharged from St Mungo’s yesterday morning so they didn’t meet each other there anymore, but Harry had asked him to go shopping for things for his flat anyway, which had resulted in them buying paint: a beautiful soft grey for his living room and a relaxing dark blue for his bedroom. And furthermore they’d been looking at furniture again, and at kitchens, wizarding ones. 

The kitchen Draco had eventually ordered was dark grey with beautiful brushed oak details and all the appliances he could possibly need. Besides they had found the perfect dinner table: brushed oak again with rather elegant chairs to match. They’d arranged to have the furniture arrive later that week and the kitchen would be installed in about a month.

And, like before, shopping with Harry had been extremely nice and Draco knew, he just _knew_ , it all was dangerously easy, deceptively domestic. And that it couldn’t possibly last.

“Do you still need me to take your mind off things? Because I should probably remind you that Ron is safely home now.” Draco said, because he couldn’t quite help himself. His tone was light, bordering on arrogant even, but he could also hear his own uncertainty.

He didn’t like it.

Harry watched him for a short while before answering, his eyes inquisitive and still just as green as Draco remembered them. “No, it’s not that anymore. But I just thought-, well, we’d started on your flat and I thought it would be nice to help you finish it. You know, so you can settle in here again, feel at home.” He kept staring at Draco, like he wanted to find answers to a question he hadn’t asked.

“You don’t want me to?” Harry finally decided to ask.

“Yes, I do. I just-.” Draco couldn’t get himself to finish that sentence. What could he say: ‘I just can’t believe you would want to do this for me, with me.’ That would come too close to the hurt, to the fear Harry was going to come to his senses and tell him it had been a mistake and they weren’t going to see each other again. 

It was something Draco knew he wouldn’t be able to deal with, not now, probably not ever.

“So you worked in France all this time?” Harry asked next. Draco nodded, thankful for the change of subject. “Why did you come back? For Astoria?” 

“No, not really. Astoria and I both decided it was time to come back. She just found a job here in London before I did, so she went back first. And then she found love here, too, and, well, the rest is history, as they say.” Draco was quite sure his voice had been completely even, but Harry seemed to have picked up on _something_ , because he kept looking at Draco with the full intensity of his green eyes for a while.

It made Draco feel all sorts of things he wasn’t at all comfortable with.

“So what made you want to come back in the first place?” In the light of everything that happened after the war, this question could have meant many things, but Harry just looked curious.

And Draco answered him honestly, because, well, it had been such a long time since anyone had looked at him like that, like they really wanted to know.

“Well, my parents, they are getting older and my father’s health is deteriorating rapidly. My mother wants to try and get him out of Azkaban for what will probably be his last year and-.” 

Draco realised his mistake as he was saying it: Harry’s look of utter disgust an unmistakable signal and somewhere a part of him wanted to explain, to tell Harry that he wasn’t particularly sure his father should get out, either – he had been avoiding visiting his father for a reason – but that, well, it seemed to be really important to his mother and Lucius still _was_ his father all the same. 

The part of him that wanted to explain wasn’t the part that won out in the end, though, and Draco felt his face level out completely while he got up from the table, choking out a tight: “Thank you for dinner,” before Apparating on the spot.

He was quite sure this _would_ be the end of it.


	3. The Stunner

Draco had been right. He hadn’t seen Harry at all anymore, not since that one fateful night.

So, he’d been working his arse off, not having an awful lot of time to himself and even if he did, he mostly spent it reading in the living room - sitting at the dinner table by absence of a sofa - too tired to do anything else. Apart from mostly regular visits to his mother at the Manor and one rather obligatory, and very uncomfortable, visit to his father in Azkaban, that was. 

He decidedly hadn’t done anything about his flat, anymore, though.

And this Sunday evening was no exception, because here Draco was - sitting, quietly reading – when he heard his doorbell, because his flat, being in a mainly Muggle neighbourhood, did actually have a doorbell. Draco got up straight away, hoping … .

Of course it wasn’t Harry, though. Why the fuck would it have been?

“Astoria.” Draco didn’t know what else to say, really. He knew Astoria had been away on honeymoon for about two weeks and that she’d gotten back a few days ago, but he hadn’t really expected to see her here yet. “Tired of Seamus already?” 

His tone had been slightly teasing and she took it exactly for what it was, answering: “Yes, well, two weeks is a long time to spend with someone continuously. So, I thought I’d come and visit my ex.” She looked him over, a few times actually, and Draco couldn’t say he liked it: he saw her eyes darkening with concern. 

Astoria knew him far too well.

She didn’t say anything about what he looked like, though, knowing him too well for that too, but Draco realised he probably didn’t look too good. By lack of a kitchen and time he hadn’t had a proper meal for ages and because he hadn’t expected company today he hadn’t even bothered about his hair or anything else much, either. He had a small mirror in his bathroom, due to the previous owner of his flat, but he had successfully avoided looking into it today, because, well, what would have been the point anyway? 

“We’re going out to dinner,” Astoria just stated next, making Draco feel even worse about himself: Astoria didn’t usually make these sorts of decisions without acknowledging him in the process: he must look absolutely atrocious.

***

When Draco came back that evening he felt slightly better. Dinner had been good and being with Astoria again had been even better. They had talked like they used to and Draco had felt completely at ease again, just like when they had still been a couple. 

He hadn’t fully appreciated how much he’d missed it.

So now he was back in his flat and although he disliked the silence that meant he was here on his own, he felt more hopeful than he had for some time now. 

Perhaps living here could actually still work.

***

It was about a week later and Draco was at work and about to go on his first real lunch break in days when a mediwitch came his way. He’d seen it happen often enough now to know exactly what it meant: the mediwitches that were sent to get him usually had exactly the same rather embarrassed look this one seemed to be sporting. 

He rose from where he’d just sat himself down before she’d even asked, just shooting his eyebrows up in question.

“Healer Malfoy, you’re required in room two,” usually that was where the talking stopped, but the witch apparently wasn’t ready yet. “It’s Mr Potter.” 

Draco couldn’t help the surge of panic shooting through him at the mention of that name and it took him just a brief moment before he could trust his voice to be level enough to speak again: “How bad is it?” 

All sorts of possibilities were racing through his mind, but none of those were good. 

And that just wouldn’t do. Harry had to be okay. He hated Draco now, Draco had made sure of that, but that really didn’t matter. He had to be okay. He could hate Draco all he wanted, as long as he was able to do so in good health.

“He was hit by a modified Stunner, nothing too bad, we think, but when a Healer wanted to examine him, he refused to be seen by them. He asked for you by name. Didn’t want anyone else doing anything.” 

Draco made it out of the breakroom in a few long strides. So the spell Harry’d been hit with didn’t seem too bad, but if it had been modified it could still be quite harmful, could have all sorts of side effects.

Draco got to room two in another instant, composing himself just before opening the door, walking in collected as always.

Harry was on the bed, looking pale. He was propped up against the headboard, leaning into it, and all sorts of alarms immediately went off inside of Draco’s head. Harry wouldn’t sit like that if he had a choice.

“You were hit with a Stunner,” Draco stated, still sounding in control. 

Harry nodded: “Not a normal one, though.” 

Draco didn’t answer, opting to start casting diagnostics immediately instead.

Harry was going to be okay. The elegant lines of Draco’s diagnostics showed beyond the shadow of a doubt that Harry was going to be okay.

The Stunner that Harry had been hit with wasn’t too much out of the ordinary: next to stunning a person, it seemed to be meant to drain energy, but this was something Draco knew how to reverse.

The relief Draco felt washing over him at that realisation was intense, much stronger than it had any right to be.

“You’re going to be alright. You were hit with a Stunner-Drainer combination and although the energy drain will probably stop at some point, anyway, I’ll most likely be able to put a stop to it now.” Draco was glad his voice still sounded completely level, none of the worry or relief he’d experienced seeping through.

Next he carefully performed the counter spells, casting diagnostics again afterwards, just to make absolutely sure no residual damage remained.

“I’m going to keep you here overnight, just to ensure everything’s fine, but I expect you’ll be able to leave tomorrow.” Draco watched Harry for a moment, then asked: “Do you still feel tired?” 

Harry looked at him at that moment, for the first time today actually meeting his eye. “No, I feel fine, really.” He sounded slightly surprised.

“Good,” Draco nodded. Harry would be able to go back to hating him in health again soon enough. “Do you need anything else?” Draco’s voice sounded carefully indifferent.

Harry seemed to hesitate, just for a beat, before shaking his head. “No, I’m okay.”

***

After his shift had ended Draco had gone to Harry’s room again, for the umpteenth time, just to see how Harry was. He had been asleep, as was to be expected after a hit like that. He looked peaceful. And stunningly attractive, of course.

Draco noticed he couldn’t get himself to look away. He had always known Harry was attractive. Even when they had started seeing each other just after the war, when everything had been one big massive mess, including Harry’s relationship with Ginny, and they had taken consolation in each other’s company, usually in Muggle London as a whole and in London clubs in particular.

Gay clubs.

It was then that Draco had learnt that Harry actually wasn’t completely off limits, because he was bi. And he had liked Draco. Or the things they did, anyway. And Draco had let himself have it: their easy, amicable thing, whatever it was. 

It had lasted all the months leading up to the new school year, and Draco had even started to believe it could be more, that _they_ could be more, that they could be real. Some day.

When Draco had gone back to Hogwarts for eighth year, Harry hadn’t joined him, going into Auror training instead. 

It hadn’t been a problem at first: they had owled each other regularly and even though Draco had known this couldn’t be real, he had still allowed himself to dream. Just a bit.

Which, of course, had been a complete and utter mistake. 

When Draco had come back from Hogwarts - after the school year had ended - happy to be seeing Harry again, they had gotten drunk and then they’d been together one more time. 

One last time.

Before Harry’s engagement had made it into the newspapers the next day.

His engagement to Ginny Weasley.

And of course Draco had confronted him, granted: after a few encouraging glasses of Firewhiskey and he’d found out that to Harry it had never been serious, _they_ had never been serious, just a bit of fun, a way to try whether he actually liked boys that way. To him Draco had been a friend (or something along those lines at least) with benefits, nothing more. 

So, as far as Harry was concerned, the whole thing had been over when Draco’d left for Hogwarts. They’d had their fun, Harry had known for sure that he was bi and that, to him, had been the end to the benefits part. 

And he’d thought Draco had known that, that he’d understood, because Harry had been absolutely clear about it all throughout their time together, he’d said. Which might be true: perhaps Draco _had_ just ignored all the signs. It was altogether possible.

He had wanted it so badly, for so long.

Next Harry had told him that he hadn’t even _wanted_ to be together that last time - the day before the engagement, when Draco had gotten back from Hogwarts - but it had just happened and Harry had let it, thinking that Draco had known, that he had known that this would be the last time. Because everyone had known.

Well, obviously Draco had missed that particular memo.

Draco’s decision whether to take on an internship as a Healer in France had been an easy one to make then.

He had moved to France within days, making arrangements to marry Astoria Greengrass within the year. He had liked her and she came close enough to what his parents had had in mind for him. He had figured that if he couldn’t make himself happy, he could at least make an effort to try and have the life _they_ had wanted for him.

He and Astoria had both known the marriage wouldn’t be a romantic affair, just convenience, meant to appease their respective families, and giving them both the freedom to have whomever they wanted on the side.

Until Astoria had, quite understandably if he was being honest, wanted more, that was.

Draco should count himself lucky it had lasted as long as it had, really, that Astoria had been willing to be with him this long.

But now it was over, whatever it was he and Astoria’d had was over, and he found himself staring at Harry again, knowing it was stupid, knowing there was nothing between them. Harry didn’t want anything with Draco, didn’t even like him anymore.

And even though Harry had been okay with Draco helping him this afternoon, had even refused to be treated by anyone else, that really didn’t mean anything. Nothing at all. It just meant Harry thought Draco was a fairly good Healer, if anything.

So Draco was going to do his job: to make absolutely sure that Harry was okay, which was why he settled in the chair next to Harry’s bed – even though it really _was_ bloody uncomfortable - resisting the urge to touch him, to just reassuringly take his hand.

Because he knew that that would most definitely not be appreciated.

***

The next morning Draco woke up to the movement of Harry getting out of bed and he found himself standing up straight away, a jolt of pain shooting through his spine because his back hadn’t particularly enjoyed the experience of sleeping on the chair. He ignored it.

Harry made it to standing remarkably fluidly, swaying a bit when he was upright, though. Draco was by his side in a short moment, steadying him.

“Don’t try to move too suddenly. It’ll make you dizzy. It’s a side effect of the spell you were hit with, but it shouldn’t last for more than a day.” Draco noticed his voice had taken on a warmth and fondness he definitely hadn’t intended and he felt his cheeks warm up slightly.

Besides he also felt Harry’s gaze on him and it was so intent he couldn’t ignore it for the life of him. So he didn’t, staring back straight into the green of Harry’s eyes, beautiful, even behind his glasses.

The moment felt like an eternity all rolled in one, like everything around them had momentarily been put on hold somehow.

And Draco could feel the familiar pull, his body so close to Harry’s that it was almost impossible not to give in. They were still watching each other and Draco leant in, just a bit, without even thinking about it. It was as if their bodies had a mind of their own. 

But of course that just couldn’t last, ending abruptly when a mediwitch came in with Harry’s breakfast. Draco moved back as if stung, taking this opportunity to excuse himself, to get out with at least most of his pride still intact. 

Because he knew that whatever Harry had been thinking just now, it couldn’t possibly have been _that_.

***

Draco’d been effectively avoiding Harry’s room for the rest of the day, knowing Harry’d leave before Draco’s shift would end. Apart from slight dizzy spells Harry had been absolutely fine (Draco had made sure Hannah Abbott had also corroborated that), so there had been no need to prolong Draco’s torture any further.

Harry would leave and that would be the end of it. 

Good.

Apparently, however, Harry had had other ideas, though, because when Draco was at the end of his long shift, ready to go home, Harry walked up to him. 

“Hey.” Well, ‘hey’ indeed: Draco was completely taken by surprise, rendered momentarily silent. “I er-, I was discharged earlier and Hermione wanted to pick me up, but I told her not to.” Draco didn’t dare hope, he really shouldn’t, but somewhere inside a part of him started to cheer happily. “She would have had to take time off work, so I told her you would take me,” Harry then added.

Right. Of course. This wasn’t about him, but about Hermione having to take time off. So, Draco quickly stuffed his hope back where it had come from and tried to look indifferent, cool.

“So will you?” Harry asked and his face was so open that Draco didn’t stand any chance of saying ‘no’. 

So he didn’t. “Okay.” 

***

At Harry’s house Draco had first made sure that Harry was comfortably settled on the sofa, then suggested ordering a curry for him.

“Will you have something to eat too?” Harry’s question sounded almost hopeful, but Draco knew that wasn’t it. Harry probably just didn’t want to be alone just yet.

So Draco nodded, brushing aside the part of him that was sensible, that was telling him not to go there again. “If you don’t mind.” 

Harry just gave him a slightly strange look, before saying: “I’d like you to stay.” Okay, so Harry definitely didn’t want to be alone. 

And perhaps that was good, Draco debated, perhaps it meant they could have the slightly tentative friendship that they’d had just a few weeks ago. Perhaps it meant Harry wasn’t angry at him anymore, or at least not enough to shut him out entirely.

Perhaps there still was a chance of _something_. 

And something, anything, was better than nothing at all. 

***

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a hell of a week and I’m going to have a glass of whiskey,” Harry stated, when Draco had magically washed up their things after their curry dinner, joining Harry on his sofa. “Do you think my Healer would agree?” 

His voice sounded serious enough, but his eyes betrayed amusement and it mesmerised Draco, making him take slightly too long to answer: “Only if your Healer can get himself a glass, too.” At least his voice sounded even enough.

“Well,” Harry made it look like he pondered this for a short while and although Draco knew Harry was teasing him, he involuntarily thought of the state he’d been in at Astoria’s wedding, shame overtaking him a little before he efficiently shoved it aside again. “I suppose he could,” Harry then answered.

Draco got up, finding Harry’s Ogden’s in the same spot it had been in all those years ago. So he got them tumblers and sat himself down again, pouring them both a generous measure and handing Harry one.

They weren’t sitting very close, almost on opposite ends of the sofa actually, but it was still nice to have this again, this ease and amicability. It all felt comfortably familiar.

And he knew it: he knew this wouldn’t last. Harry would remember he was angry with Draco or something else would pop up, because that was how this worked.

That was how _they_ worked: it never lasted. And every time it didn’t, it took a bit of Draco with it. 

“I do understand why you’d want your father out,” Harry now said quietly and quite without warning. He didn’t specify out of what, but that part was obvious. 

“I don’t even know whether _I_ want him out, really,” Draco then answered, possibly even more quietly. “But my mother wants to try, wants to be able to take care of him, now he’s this ill. And I, well, I get _that_. I just think I should support her.”

Harry nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything else, though, just eyeing Draco with the kind of soft gaze that Draco would never ever get enough of. 

Then he seemed to snap out of it. “What did you think of the latest Puddlemere win?”

Right. Back to safer ground it was, then.

*** 

“You could stay here. I have a spare room, that you’re quite familiar with already.” Harry’s tone just held humour, no sting.

Draco got up. He wasn’t drunk. He’d actually measured his alcohol intake very carefully, but he _was_ tired: a full week’s working hours, and more, weighing him down. 

And he saw Harry was too.

“I’d like to,” he simply said and he heard the gratitude colouring his tone, realising he truly didn’t want to go home for the night anymore.

They went upstairs together. And so what, if Harry was a little unstable, tired and slightly tipsy, and Draco slipped his arm around his waist and let Harry lean into him a bit. 

It was all just perfectly logical. 

And really nice.

And not at all completely and utterly stupid.


	4. Home

“It has really started to look like a home, hasn’t it?” Harry said. It was the next weekend and they’d spent their Saturday looking for, and fortunately finding, a comfortable, but still elegant enough looking sofa and some other smaller things. Afterwards Harry had come back to Draco’s flat, seeing it for the first time now it was partly furnished. 

Draco just nodded, pleased that Harry apparently liked what he saw. “You haven’t painted the walls, yet, though?” It actually was more of a question than a statement.

Draco hesitated just a moment: “I-, I haven’t gotten round to hiring people to do it and-. Well, I’ve been really busy.” Okay, that wasn’t the complete truth, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself by telling Harry how he hadn’t been able to get anything much done really: not even getting some painters in. 

Harry considered him for a moment and Draco feared Harry had seen right through him. That didn’t seem to be the case after all, though, because Harry only said: “You know you don’t need painters to do the painting. You just need to know the right spells.” There was amusement in his eyes.

“And I take it you happen to know those spells?” 

Harry nodded. “I’ve helped Ron and Hermione decorate.”

“Okay.” Draco knew he sounded slightly hesitant, but apparently it was all the permission Harry had needed. 

He taught Draco the spells.

***

It was a good thing they had shoved the new furniture away from the walls, because even though the spells for painting were not supposed to leave any mess whatsoever, they did tend to misfire with unpractised casting.

“Seriously?” Draco noticed he felt both annoyed and like laughing. His wall was mostly blue now, but his floor had been painted an enormous blob of the same colour too. “Some spell this is.” 

Harry was openly laughing. “It’s not the spell, you pillock. It’s the caster, as you well know.” His eyes were on Draco now, soft with laughter. “You even have paint on your face. If you go on like this you’ll be just as blue as your walls by the time we’re done.” Draco knew he should have felt offended, but there was a remarkably gentle quality to Harry’s words, that rendered Draco completely incapable of any such thing.

And then Harry touched his cheek, warm, like a caress. He apparently tried to get the paint off Draco’s face, but failed, taking out his wand and pointing it at Draco. 

There would have been a time when Draco would have feared that, but now he didn’t, not at all: he welcomed it, welcomed the moment that Harry’s magic washed over him, almost as familiar as his own.

“Well, the blue’s gone.” Harry was still watching him, his gaze soft and intent, the ghost of his touch lingering on Draco’s cheek. “At least it’s off your _face_ now.” And just like that Harry’s gaze was gone again, directed at the enormous blob of blue that was still on the floor instead. 

***

“So if I can’t make it tomorrow, you wouldn’t be able to install it within the next _month_?” Draco drawled to the head in his recently installed Floo. He’d felt his voice go even more arrogant with sheer incredulity.

He’d made an appointment to have some wizards come and install his new kitchen on a day that he was actually off work, but now they were Floo-calling him to reschedule. Damnit.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, having apparated in just a few seconds before.

“They can only come to install the kitchen tomorrow, but I’m working and there’s no way I can swap my shift this short term for something like that, which means I’ll have to wait for more than a _month_.” Draco hadn’t wanted the despair to seep through his every word, but it had anyway. He was so done with not having something as basic as a kitchen.

“I’m off tomorrow,” Harry’s answer was quite shocking in its simplicity, its ease. “I can be here, let them in.” 

It took Draco completely by surprise. “You would?” 

“Of course. When Ron and Hermione just moved into their house I waited for their bath to arrive for ages.” Draco felt his face mimic the complex array of feelings that swept through him. 

So, he seemed to officially fall into Harry’s friend category now? The same one that Ron and Hermione fell into? Draco really wanted to belong there, but at the same time he felt massively disappointed. 

Stupid hope.

“Problem solved.” Harry now directed himself towards the head in the Floo. “You can come and install that kitchen tomorrow.”

“We’ll be there Mr Potter,” the head just answered before fizzing out.

Draco eyed Harry for a moment, still not exactly sure what to make of all this. 

“What?” Harry asked, on what was almost a laugh.

Draco shrugged. “Nothing. It just seems like a rather tedious way to spend your Saturday off.” It came out extremely quiet and Draco realised he really didn’t want Harry to give up his Saturday like that. Harry’s job was demanding enough already: he shouldn’t be forced to be bored into oblivion waiting in Draco’s flat on his weekend off. 

Harry just smiled brightly. “I really don’t mind,” he said it like he meant it. “But I would need your spare key, though.” It sounded like a practical observation, nothing more.

Draco needed a slight pause, before answering: “Yes, of course,” Up until now Harry had obviously just apparated into Draco’s flat, but if Harry was to let the kitchen people in, he would obviously need the key. 

Harry would get to have the spare key to his flat.

Draco decidedly had to remind himself that that was not a milestone. 

It was just Harry being every inch the nice Gryffindor, needing the key to let some people in, no more no less.

***

“There you are. Finally.” Harry greeted Draco “Well, I can now officially tell you that your kitchen actually works.” 

Draco had just apparated in from work, late, because a four-year-old had been hurt rather badly trying to ride a broom and he had wanted to finish treating her before leaving. It had taken him about one and a half hours.

So Draco had thought Harry would definitely have left his flat by now. Which Harry obviously hadn’t.

It made Draco so happy, it hurt.

“So they’ve actually finished installing it,” Draco observed, still managing cool indifference.

“Yeah, they were late getting here, just like you actually,” here Harry looked straight at Draco and Draco almost felt inclined to explain himself, elaborately, until he saw the humour in Harry’s eyes. “But they finished the whole thing today anyway. And I just decided to see whether it works.” 

Here Harry gestured at the dinner table.

***

Harry had made a simple, but absolutely delicious pasta bolognaise and for some time Draco just ate, grateful for the cooking and especially the company. Even now he’d spent his evenings with Harry on a rather regular basis, it still was really nice to be able to just sit down and eat after work and even better: not to have to do it alone.

“So you never had any children?” Draco didn’t have a clue where Harry’s thoughts had gone when he was eating, but this question was apparently where they had ended up.

“No, we didn’t.” 

Harry didn’t say anything for a beat, then obviously decided to speak his mind anyway: “I thought your marriage to Astoria … . Well, I just thought your marriage was meant to result in that, you know, children.” 

Draco didn’t know what to make of this for a moment. Harry had obviously successfully managed not to mention Draco’s perceived obligation to produce an heir or the word pureblood, for that matter, but Harry was still clearly implying all of it.

When Draco looked into Harry eyes, however, he just saw curiosity there and Draco decided Harry had made his rather uncharacteristic attempt at diplomacy, because he hadn’t wanted Draco to feel insulted. 

Draco’s smile, when he answered, was much warmer than it should have been: “When we got married we thought so too, I suppose, but, well, it just never happened. We didn’t actually share a bed, of course and I guess we just thought we still had time. That it could wait.” 

Draco noticed the words came easier than they would normally come: he was tired, really, very tired. And that meant he would have to be careful as to what he said, not giving away too much. Around Harry it was always so easy to give away too much.

“So what about you? I would have thought you and your wife would have had at least three children by now.” Draco purposely steered away from using Ginny Weasley’s name. For some reason he still couldn’t say it.

Harry gave him a small smile. “Yeah, I wanted to, you know, have children, but there always seemed to be some reason not to. At first it was Ginny’s career with the Harpies that she didn’t want to put on the line, especially not when she’d just started there. And later we just didn’t …, well, we didn’t really have that sort of a relationship anymore.” Harry’s face had shut down a bit on that last sentence. “That was a few years before the divorce. I think it probably was when I should have seen it coming. The divorce, I mean.”

Draco swallowed: “So you didn’t want the divorce?” He noticed how tight his voice sounded all of a sudden.

“Well, yes, I did,” Harry clarified, “I do understand what Ginny meant. She said we were more like brother and sister than husband and wife and she was right, of course. We’re still good friends, though, even though she’s with Dean now.” Here Harry paused a beat, then added: “Much like you and Astoria, I think. You’re still good friends, too, aren’t you?” 

Draco nodded slowly, feeling slightly mutinous, though. He and Astoria had never been _anything more_ than just good friends, really. 

***

Work on the flat had proceeded quite a lot since Harry had decided to start helping Draco again. The larger pieces of furniture were mostly in place, the walls had obviously been painted, the kitchen had been fitted, of course, and today the bathroom had been redone.

It looked absolutely beautiful, exactly like Draco had wanted it: containing a luxuriously large bath and a walk-in shower that looked both stylish and inviting. Inviting enough for Draco to want to try it straight away.

And, why not? Harry wasn’t due to come in for at least three quarters of an hour, so he had time.

Draco proceeded to undress, folding his clothes and leaving them on a chair in his bedroom after which he went into his new bathroom again, the underfloor heating comfortably warm under his feet. He walked straight into the shower cubicle, starting the spray of its enormous rain shower, so that soon water was running hot and soothing over his body, making his muscles relax instantly. 

It was utterly satisfying and Draco took his time, figuring that after a night spent working and a day spent waiting for the bathroom to be fitted, he probably deserved it. 

When he finally left the cubicle to get himself a towel from the heated towel rack, he felt completely relaxed, drying himself off slowly, feeling warm and rather sluggish: his exhaustion from not having slept for quite a while finally catching up with him. 

Then he slung his towel over his hips, looked at himself in the now large mirror over the sink for a moment and …, then the door opened. 

It was Harry. 

Draco regained control quickly, arching his eyebrows at Harry who was momentarily and quite satisfyingly, silent for a beat, just eyeing Draco’s naked torso, then down and up again, before he apparently found he could form words. “I couldn’t find you, so I thought you’d be in your new bathroom.”

“And I was.” Draco wryly stated the obvious.

Harry snorted a laugh. “Yeah, but I thought you’d be less, er-, naked, you know, just _looking_ at your bathroom, not using it.” 

Draco only watched him for a beat longer, his eyebrows still raised, almost as if daring Harry to say he couldn’t use his own bathroom whenever he wanted to.

Harry didn’t take the dare and smiled. “I’ll have a better look at your bathroom later, you know, when you’re not in it and for now I’ll just cook us something and leave you to it.” He decidedly didn’t look down at Draco’s body anymore. 

Draco didn’t really know whether to be offended or not.

***

So this was it. This afternoon Draco and Harry had found the last few things to make Draco’s flat into a real home: just some cushions for the sofa and a beautiful set of crystal wineglasses that completely satisfied Draco’s tastes.

Draco looked around. There really wasn’t anything else that he needed, nothing else to add before this flat could become his home.

Except for the obvious of course. 

Harry had become a more and more permanent presence in his flat and it had felt so good, so natural, so much like he belonged there. But Draco also knew what Harry had told him when they’d started this, that he wanted to help Draco finish his flat, so he could settle in and feel at home. Nothing more.

And, well, that had been accomplished.

So Draco knew exactly what that meant. Now that the flat was done, Harry would disappear out of his life again. Harry had basically even said so, when he had left this evening, saying that he was glad that he didn’t have to help anymore, because Draco’s flat was finally done.

Draco hadn’t actually realised Harry had hated it, but now he thought about it, it kind of made sense: it probably wasn’t the nicest thing to spend almost all your time off on someone else’s flat.

It was when Draco decided to make Harry a thank-you dinner.

***

Draco had planned everything meticulously: he had bought a wizarding cookbook, tried out a few recipes (it really _was_ very much like brewing potions) and then decided on what he was going to cook: it was to be a homemade curry with nan bread and rice. 

Then he’d decided on the way he would lay the table and when exactly he was going to do what, so that when Harry came he could give him his full attention. 

And, of course, he’d invited Harry: telling him there would be a house-warming dinner. 

Harry had accepted.

Draco wanted this to be perfect more than anything. If he wasn’t going to see Harry regularly anymore, he wanted to make this something he could remember, something he could hold on to.

And now it was eight o’clock. Harry wasn’t there yet, but he would be soon, so Draco checked himself over in his mirror one more time. The expensive, dark green Muggle suit he was wearing was perfectly tailored to his slim body and his tie was the exact shade of grey of his eyes. He looked good, even if he thought so himself. 

A quarter past eight. Draco started to get a bit nervous. Harry wouldn’t have forgotten, would he? No, that couldn’t be it. He probably had an emergency at work or something else pressing. Draco cast a Stasis Charm on the food just to be safe and reprimanded himself: a quarter of an hour late wasn’t that much. Harry would come.

Okay, so perhaps Harry wouldn’t come. It was almost nine o’clock now and still no sign of Harry whatsoever. Draco felt worried all of a sudden: perhaps something was wrong, perhaps that was why he wasn’t here yet.

Draco apparated into Harry’s house without a second thought.

When he got there he heard voices in the smaller living room and he headed there straight away, stopping in his tracks, suddenly careful, when he recognised the teary voice of someone who was unmistakably Ginny Weasley.

Right.

“I really thought Dean and I were meant to last. We were so happy together.”

Harry answered something in muffled tones and when Draco made it to the door and glanced in, he saw why: Harry was talking into Ginny’s hair, having pulled her so close she was almost sitting in his lap.

Right. Again.

Draco turned away quickly, couldn’t actually watch this. Then he apparated out of Harry’s house on the spot.

Only when the sickening sensation of apparition had stopped and he was in his own flat again, did Draco give himself permission to let them come. For the first time since he’d come back to Britain, since Astoria had found happiness with someone else, since he’d seen Harry again and had known it would end.

In this. In tears.

And once they did come, it was like he couldn’t stop them anymore, like he wouldn’t ever be able to reign them in, like he was drowning in them. 

A part of him wished he would.

So he decidedly didn’t look at the dinner table anymore and went straight to the bedroom, stripping to just his pants, not even bothering with his pyjamas, and climbing into bed. 

Perhaps if he closed his eyes hard enough, the tears would eventually stop coming. 

***

Draco only realised he’d fallen asleep when he woke up, because he’d heard something. It was still dark, but there definitely was someone, or something, in his living room.

Draco was up in no time, just putting on his pyjama bottoms before making it there. 

It was Harry, in Draco’s flat. He was watching the food that was still sitting untouched on Draco’s dinner table. Draco felt a shudder pass through his whole body, then hope raising its head and he knew he was on that dangerous road again: the one that had got him here in the first place. Even so, Harry _was_ actually here, though. That had to count for something.

“I didn’t realise it was this late already” Harry said. “I’m sorry.” He sounded completely genuine. “I hadn’t expected it to be only me, though. For this house-warming dinner, I mean. And it’s just before ten, so I thought I might just, you know, still catch dessert or something.” 

Draco swallowed, hard, hoping the remnants of his stupid little meltdown weren't too visible. He didn’t really know what to say for a moment, so he just didn’t say anything, fearing he was probably dreaming again anyway: his brain having mercy on him.

“So, do you think we could still have this dinner you made? I’d like us to: I haven’t really had anything yet.” Harry’s eyes were so open, so beautiful that Draco couldn’t do anything else than go along with it. Of course he couldn’t. 

He lifted the Stasis Charm.

***

“So that was your first attempt at cooking?” Harry asked after they’d finished eating. 

Draco nodded. “More or less.” He hadn’t told Harry about the practice runs he’d had to find the right recipe. 

“It was really good. If you cook like this, I might like to eat here more often.” Harry said it playfully, but Draco’s stomach seemed to do a happy kind of jolt anyway and that still was a dangerous thing. Even if, by now, Draco had decided that this couldn’t be a dream after all. 

“And I really am sorry I was late,” Harry repeated apologetically, “It’s just-, Ginny and Dean are going through a rough patch. They haven’t seen much of each other for a while, mostly because of Ginny’s job and now he seemed more distant. She thinks he might be having an affair.”

“Why does she discuss that with you, though? Shouldn’t she be talking to him about it?” Draco drawled almost viciously. He couldn’t help himself, the image of Ginny, almost sitting in Harry’s lap and Harry holding her tight, still too fresh in his mind.

Harry looked at Draco a bit startled, eventually saying: “She will in time, but she just needed to confide in someone else.” Adding: ”As I told you already: we’re still really good friends.” 

“Are you sure that’s all you are?” Draco heard the ice to his voice, knowing nothing good would come from it, but not being able to stop it either.

Harry gazed at him for a moment. “Yeah, quite sure actually. What is this-?”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence, though, because Draco cut him off: “Well, you two seem to get along just fine. Much better than just friends, I‘d say.” He would never dream of holding Astoria the way Potter had held Ginny Weasley this evening. “Are you sure you’re divorced, because you still looked very much the couple to me.”

“You _saw_ us?”

“Yes, I thought perhaps something was wrong, so I went to your house and I saw-. Don’t worry, I left again immediately.” His voice was all cool indifference now. Good.

“You-. I was just comforting her, nothing else. She just needed-.” Harry obviously began to get angry now, stumbling over his words.

“Well, if that’s your definition of comforting, perhaps you’re still hanging on to the past a bit too much.” Draco had almost started yelling, feeling utterly frustrated, angry, betrayed.

All of it was better than feeling dejected.

Harry just looked at him for a while, the anger in his eyes visibly building. Then he exploded: “You think _I’m _hanging on to the past?” His voice had taken on an incredulous note. “And you’re not?”__

__“No, I’m not! I’m trying to make a life for myself here, not to dwell on the past too much, to make a new start. _If_ you haven’t noticed.” Draco _was_ actually yelling now. _ _

__“Oh really?” Harry watched him and Draco just nodded, but Harry didn’t buy it. “Seriously, that’s what you think? Then what is _this_ still doing here?” Harry asked, launching himself at Draco’s locket, the one he had brought back to Draco’s house after Astoria’s wedding. _ _

__It turned out the locket was easy for Harry to reach: hanging on Draco’s otherwise naked chest. Besides Harry had taken Draco completely by surprise, so Draco only tried to pull back when it was too late._ _

__Harry tore the locket off Draco’s neck in one fluid motion before Draco could do anything about it, unrelentingly flinging it to the ground._ _

__They both saw it fall, hitting the ground, opening up._ _

__And Draco knew exactly when Harry saw it, the photo in his locket._ _

__It had been taken in that first summer after the war - when they’d wandered through Muggle London together, both escaping wizarding attention for different reasons – in a photobooth at the train station. Draco hadn’t even known that Muggle equipment could actually take photographs at the time and Harry’d shown him._ _

__It was Harry. On the photograph. In his locket._ _

__Of course it was. It had always _been_ Harry after all. _ _

__“I-, I thought that would be Astoria. The way you talked about her-, I thought-.” Harry blundered._ _

__“Well, it isn’t.” Draco was pleased to find his voice sounding so steely it could have broken glass. At least _that_ was still working. _ _

__Draco turned away from Harry, trying to salvage some of his self-esteem. “Just turn off the lights when you leave. I’m going back to bed.” His voice still worked just fine._ _

__The rest of him had a harder time of it, though, so he walked out of the room quickly, fearing he wouldn’t be able to hold it all in very much longer._ _

__And this had already been quite humiliating enough, thank you very much. No need to add to it._ _

__He closed the door to his bedroom with a decisive click, cast a locking charm on it and threw himself on the bed, instantly regretting he hadn’t accio-ed the Firewhiskey on his way out of the living room. At least that way he would have been able to drink himself into oblivion._ _

__“Draco?” Harry’s voice sounded soft and Draco realised it must be pity. He’d managed to get Potter’s pity. Well now, that made everything much better, of course._ _

__Draco buried his head underneath the pillow. At some point Harry would have to leave, perhaps Draco could get the Firewhiskey out after he’d gone._ _

__“Draco?” Harry’s voice was closer now, a whole lot closer and Draco knew what it meant. The git hadn’t respected the door being shut on him and had apparently also decided a locking charm was just there to be taken down. Why had Draco thought it would actually keep him out in the first place?_ _

__“Get. Out.” Draco punctuated both words clearly, his voice still managing cold even though the rest of him had seemingly already given up. His pillow was wet._ _

__Draco felt the mattress dip, then a touch on his back. It was feather-light, hesitant (as it damn well should be. What was the sod still doing here anyway?) but it managed to send a shiver through his treacherous body all the same._ _

__Harry took that as some kind of permission, his touch becoming steady. “I’d nearly forgot we actually took those pictures.” His voice had a warm, almost far-off quality to it that Draco liked far too much. “I did think of us, though, over the years. Quite a lot really.” Now _that_ caught Draco’s attention. Harry continued: “I know I said there was no _us_ that night, you know, just after I got engaged.”_ _

__Yes, Draco remembered, rather painfully vividly in fact._ _

__“And I meant it.” Here Harry actually had the audacity to smile a bit, “Hermione always keeps telling me how completely stupid I am when it comes to that sort of thing. And I definitely was, back then. I think once I figured out I could also like blokes that way I just wanted everything to be normal again, the way everyone expected, the way _I_ expected.” _ _

__Here he looked straight at Draco and his face was completely serious now, and so absolutely fucking genuine, honest, _beautiful_. “I never forgot, though. Not really. And now I know _you_ didn’t, either.” Harry held up the locket: a clear testament to something Draco would never ever have been inclined to say out loud._ _

__Draco sat up, noticing he was holding his breath, bracing for a blow he hoped would never come. “So why didn’t you even want to look my way? You know, at Astoria’s wedding?” he asked, still fearing._ _

__Here Harry watched him disbelievingly for a brief moment, before answering: “I tried to, I-, I wanted to come and talk to you: I actually told Ginny I would, but the look you gave me was so-, so regal and cold and I thought you’d probably just hex me on the spot. So I kind of figured you didn’t want anything to do with me.”_ _

__Harry voice sounded soft and honest and Draco just watched him, knowing his eyes were anything but regal and cold now._ _

__And then Harry was just there, so close Draco could actually smell him, familiar and absolutely enticing. Draco’s body moved without his permission as he felt Harry leaning in._ _

__Their kiss was soft, but insistent, as if neither of them was entirely convinced it was permitted, but at the same time completely unwilling to let go._ _

__Draco’s hands knew their way without a conscious thought, one arm around Harry’s waist and his other hand on the nape of Harry’s neck, pulling him in. And Harry seemed to be into it just as much, deepening their kiss with a force that was so very much him, so very much _Harry_._ _

__And even though Draco still wasn’t entirely certain this would end well, he had no other choice than to let go, to let himself be overtaken by everything that Harry meant to him._ _

__***_ _

__When Draco woke up the next morning, he knew before he’d actually opened his eyes: Harry was still there, next to him._ _

__He hadn’t left._ _

__Draco opened his eyes slowly, still somehow fearing that everything would evaporate before his eyes, once he’d opened them, leaving him alone again. But it didn’t._ _

__“You took your time,” Harry started. The words could have meant anything, but Harry smiled fondly, taking the edge off of them completely._ _

__“Well, I’ve found that sleep is actually widely underrated and since I now do have a perfectly good bed, well, I’ve decided to use it.” Draco’s words were still somewhat slurred from sleep, but it would do._ _

__Harry just smiled at him again, open and genuine and utterly attractive. He sat up on one elbow, looking down at Draco and Draco couldn’t help himself. He just had to rake his hand through the mess that was Harry’s hair, slowly, savouring it. It had always been much softer than it looked._ _

__Harry just leaned into the touch, bending over toward Draco almost like he couldn’t quite help himself either, tangling his fingers into Draco’s hair and pulling Draco slightly towards him. Draco gladly let him: the kiss that followed lazy and utterly sweet._ _

__“I’m so happy you came back.” It was a whisper against Draco’s skin, but it made all the difference in the world._ _

__“I came home,” Draco just simply said, a lump in his throat he hadn’t quite expected to be there. It was true, though. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so much at home anywhere as he did just now, not in his adult life anyway._ _

__Harry watched him silently, just for a moment. “So did I.” His voice was gentle and soft and all Draco could do was to lightly caress his face, then pull him back into a warm, almost desperate kiss neither of them seemed willing to break._ _

__He really _was_ home._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my Beta!
> 
> And thank you all for reading! I hope you liked it.


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